Bring
by pedal
Summary: Quatre visits a peace festival when stopping on his home colony, soon before his father is killed. Inspired by children and peace. [oneshot]


Written: February 2005

Disclaimer: Not mine, and probably not yours.

Author's note: My views on peace are not like Quatre's. They match Relena's much better.

Dedication: I was an orchestra member at the Nobel Peace Prize celebration that a nearby college held. This story is dedicated to and inspired by all the children I saw at this festival.

Bring

By Pedal

We don't have to do this. It doesn't have to be this way. I hate war, but for now, it's the only way.

Why can't I just step back for a second and see it from Miss Relena's side? Heero can; he can see what she sees in all this, and yet...

How is it that he's still fighting? Miss Relena is so strong, advocating peace like she does and never once thinking of fighting as a solution. Please, oh please let me think that way.

I step into the college building, surprised at the number of people gathered just for the sake of peace. Not that we don't want peace, but this was special. It's Miss Relena's peace: peace without fighting. I want it so much it hurts.

The booths each have a different idea for how to attain peace, at the very least help to. Shirts and bumper stickers are being sold, and buttons and pamphlets are being handed out. Some of the messages are satirical, while the others are very serious. Some make jokes of OZ and of the gundams.

Teachers, not-so-well-known pacifist leaders, and young children are everywhere. The students have uniformed, oversized shirts marking where they're from. Several different school groups are gathered for reasons I can't fathom. Quiet, but crescendo-ing orchestral music seeps from the gymnasium area. As I peek inside, my breath catches in my throat.

In the bleachers, there are even more schools, all separated by their respective colored shirts or scarves. On the floor, hundreds of citizens sit in maroon folding chairs; half of them more students, and the other half are well-dressed people with several papers. The music is coming from the only high school, next to the stage. There are about twenty of them, wearing black dresses and tuxedos and playing Vivaldi's "Allegro in D."

The few who recognize me either whisper amongst themselves or glower. I am not the famous heir to the Winner Enterprises. I am a long lost schoolmate to the orchestra members, or I am a gundam pilot.

My former friends, after their playing, are quiet and still while a group of young children stand and begin singing. A few of my peers stare while I stand in shame at the entrance to their side. I'm only a ghost to them now. A lost soul who no longer knows what he is doing on the colony. I turn and continue my way through the building to find my father and sister.

This gathering, this strong need for peace that this place holds makes my heart ache even more. How can they care so much and yet refuse to believe that my father's goal is to attain peace?

How do you do this, Miss Relena? You're so much stronger than we'll ever be. I know you trust that simply sorting things out and talking can grant peace. If only we could do that. And still yet, without you, we are lost. Hope is lost. You stand not only as a ambassador struggling for peace, but as that faraway princess who is a beacon that gives us reasons to do our best in getting this peace. You give us strength.

Until I can understand the kind of hope that Miss Relena and Father have for such perfection in all the Earthsphere, I will continue fighting for my own peace. Perhaps if and when peace is achieved by our fighting, I will hand it to Miss Relena in saying that her wishes are nothing but a faerie tale. Nevertheless, those wishes are the best we can want, and they will always be the most appealing solution to all who wait for any type of peace.

I suck in a shaky breath when Irea lays a hand on my shoulder from my side. On our way out to the protestor-flooded street, we pass a booth with a small picture of Miss Relena. I smile at it, and one of the children who seemed afraid of me earlier smiles up at me, humming one of the songs about peace that she sung with her school choir. Another girl runs to her side, and just before I exit with Irea, says, "Bring us peace, Mister Gundam Pilot."

Maybe fighting is the only way.


End file.
